


January is the Strangest Month

by AcceleratedStall



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Anachronic Order, Apathy Syndrome, Baking, Boredom, Gen, Jogging, Junpei is not a therapist, Lazy Shakespeare References, Libraries, Loneliness, Mysterious Rituals, Questionable Motorcycle Behavior, Ramen, Slice of Life, Snow, Some Suggestions of Surrealism, Strange Ways of Having Fun, because it's all I know how to write, introspective, series of shorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcceleratedStall/pseuds/AcceleratedStall
Summary: Spared by SEES, Ryoji promised the world a month before everything ends. What happens in the meantime? A series of vignettes. Includes getting cold, getting mad, getting even, and getting cake. Now with bonus fishing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm calling the female protagonist Kotone, just for a change of pace.

1 January

 

2010 begins in the cold and not-quite-dark. Kotone pushes herself upward in her bed and spares a bleary-eyed glance at her alarm clock - forty-five minutes before it’s due to go off. Frustrating to wake up now, when sunrise is not far away and going back to bed will fetch no more than a few minutes’ comfort. An echo of panic passes through her mind, of a long-awaited deadline and a decision to be made, but quickly subsides; she still remembers everything; she’s still _her_. The faint glow of the clock’s digits highlights a little circle on the desktop next to it - the ring Ryoji left her last night. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulls on a pair of shoes and slips the ring in the pocket of her pajamas.

Kotone nudges her door open in a fumbling effort to keep its motion as quiet as she can, and tiptoes down the hallway. A soft electric hum from the vending machine is the only other sound; its illuminated display casts a whitish-blue glow over the staircase. She reaches the front door without switching on the lights in the lounge, its long black shadows slowly, imperceptibly giving way to grays and blues.

 

Her first step out the door crunches. A thin layer of snow covers the entire street; there aren’t even any tire tracks to reveal the pavement in the middle of the road. It must have fallen after Ryoji left, as Kotone can see no footprints in it besides her own - but then again, he did say something about becoming intangible. Maybe he doesn’t even leave footprints anymore. Judging by how quickly most everyone at school forgot about him, maybe the ring she reaches for in her pocket is the only sign left that he ever lived.

She’s not at all dressed for the cold, and knows she’ll head back inside soon, but something about the familiar sight of the street outside the dorm is magnetic. There’s a personal quality to the pristine sheet of snow on the sidewalk and parked cars; like the world, tumbling towards its end though it might be, still has something to show to her and her alone.

Kotone spends a moment watching the puffs of mist rise from her nose and mouth and disappear against the sky; rich, deep blue in one direction, pale orange in the other. In the stillness she feels something alight on her arm - a butterfly.

Strange, but it seems to be both real and alive; its thin blue wings open and close slowly atop a scrawl of legs and feelers. Kotone watches it intently, careful not to move suddenly enough to shake it loose. Perhaps the red sleeve of her pajama top recalled the color of some flower? There weren’t any real flowers to be found at the moment, certainly. Wait, did butterflies even see in color? She couldn’t remember.

Before long an icy breeze blows down the street; Kotone shivers with her whole body. Dislodged from her arm, the butterfly is caught on the wind and in moments it is gone. It’s as good a reason as any to go back inside.

 

As soon as she shuts the door she can feel someone staring at her. “Kotone-san,” Aigis addresses her with characteristic formality, giving her a slight bow.

Kotone ought to have expected this. Does Aigis even sleep?

“Ambient exterior temperature last measured at negative three point six degrees Celsius,” she announces. “Continued exposure to such conditions in your current attire presents an unacceptable health risk.”

“Oh, come on, I’m fine, it wasn’t like I was going to _stay_ out there,” Kotone protests in response, blowing into her cupped hands and rubbing them together as she kicks the snow off her shoes.

Aigis manages to sound a little hurt. “Your protection is my highest priority.”

Kotone sighs. “I know, and I appreciate it. Want to help me cook breakfast?”

“Notify me before you leave next time and I will procure a scarf and boots for your safety.”

“Right.”


	2. Chapter 2

14 January

 

Kotone emerges, blinking in the sunlight, from the bar down the stairs behind Port Island Station, the drink Elizabeth had asked for in hand. It was kind of an interesting place - definitely the sort of spot where she’d meet an important contact if she was a private eye in a movie - but if she stayed too long, eventually someone at school would find out she had been there and there’d be no end to it. As it is now she has to carry a full cocktail shaker all the way to the Velvet Room, and that’s awkward enough.

At least there aren’t many people around in the alley. A few handbills promoting the Nyx cult blow in the wind across the bare concrete. A surly-looking young man with a nose ring and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth stops one with his foot.

 

She’d been planning to pass him by without a word, but he calls out to her. “You see this shit?” He stoops down to pick up the flier and crumples it in his hand. “These fucking posters everywhere.”

Well, it’s nice to find someone outside of SEES who finds them as annoying as she does. Turning to him, she answers, “Yeah, every time I rip one down two more pop up in the same spot.”

“Tell me about it.” The punk throws the crumpled-up paper towards a nearby trash bin; it bounces off the side. “Shit!”

He takes a drag on his cigarette. “I wouldn’t normally give a shit, but you know who’s in charge of these Nyx guys? That fuckin’ freak!”

Curious, Kotone pipes up. “Which freak is that?”

Wreathed in blue cigarette smoke, the punk answers. “He used to show up here all the time. Long hair, tattoos, hated wearing a shirt. Thought he was such hot shit. None of us wanted to start any shit with him ‘cos he always had a gun tucked into his pants.”

Well there’s only one person that could be - Kotone doesn’t like him either, though for very different reasons.

“And now these idiots think he’s their savior! It’s like the worst fuckin’ joke! Dude’s like one sneeze away from blowing his own nuts off every time he struts on through here, and people think he’s some kind of fuckin’ _guru_ or some shit! I hate it!”

He pauses, dropping his cigarette on the ground and running a hand through greasy black hair, seemingly a little embarrassed by his rant. “Ugh, you’re one of those Gecko kids, huh? Not like you have to deal with crap like this.”

Kotone smiles. “You’d be surprised. The expensive uniforms don’t make us any smarter.”

The punk grinds his boot over the end of his cigarette. “Actually… what’s the opposite of the end of the world?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Well, I figure if that freak’s spendin’ all day preachin’ the end of the world now, the best way to get back at him is to believe the opposite, right?”

He isn’t altogether wrong, Kotone decides. “Sure, I can see it. Don’t quite know what the opposite of the end of the world would really look like, though. Beginning of the world? Something really hopeful like that?”

“Right, but… shit, I gotta think about this.”

Kotone turns and takes a few steps towards the exit from the alley.

As she leaves, the punk yells to her, “hey, come back sometime! I’m gonna be hopeful as _shit_ next time you see me!”

 

Kotone’s smile lasts her all the way to the Velvet Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess Elizabeth's request for a cocktail with her name actually unlocks way earlier than this in game? But as far as reasons for Kotone to be in the alley behind the station go, it's one of my favorites, so I'm keeping it. The punk is a composite of two different NPCs you can talk to who complain about Takaya. I noticed that his dialog seemed to flow better the more curse words I gave him to say.


	3. Chapter 3

23-24 January

 

At this late hour, Kotone has decided, the most frustrating times are when there’s nothing to do. Realistically, there’s no way to always be preparing for when Nyx finally arrives, and she wouldn’t really want there to be. Yet at idle moments, some small part of her mind can’t stop urging her onward, to keep finding things to do - before the fear sets back in. So it is as the last bell of school rings in the afternoon, and she leans back in her seat, letting the pencil in her hand drop to the floor. Fuuka is sure that the top of Tartarus is within reach, but for the moment they can climb it no higher; the tower is stubborn that way. Six sets of military-grade ballistic armor are on their way to Kurosawa at the police station, but he can’t get them to ship any faster; there’s no point bothering him about it before Tuesday. Even the first-aid classes she’s been taking at the community center are done for the week. 

Well, there is _one_ thing, though it’s not strictly S.E.E.S. related. Finding people at school is second nature at this point - she gets up from her desk to go track down Mitsuru.

Ever since she started to get to know her better, Kotone has thought that the awestruck admirers who wait outside the student council room to see Mitsuru are a bit silly, so she’s glad to catch up with her outside the library and not have to act _too_ much like them - besides what she’s about to ask her for, anyway.

“Mitsuru-senpai, can I ask you for a favor real quick?”

She tilts her head inquiringly as she turns to look at Kotone.

“Go ahead.”

“So, um,” Kotone starts. They were just talking about this a few days ago, it really shouldn’t feel so awkward to bring up. “We’re not going to let the world end, all of us have agreed. So it’s silly to think of things you’d like to do before you die, or things we need to do before the 31st, or anything like that. But.” She adjusts the clips in her hair a little.

“But?” Mitsuru projects an expression of total neutrality; it must be a boardroom thing, Kotone supposes, to convince people that she’s unbiased while she listens to their proposals.

“But I’d really like to ride your motorcycle with you!” Kotone spits out.

Mitsuru makes a thin little smile.

“I think we could do that. Meet me at the corner store down the street from dorm tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” Kotone floats on a little wave of relief.

“Certainly; we do have the day off tomorrow. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She hurries off, dialing numbers into her phone as she goes.

 

—

 

The winter sun is low but strong as Kotone arrives at the appointed location. After the snowstorms earlier in the month the temperature has spiked back up again, leaving piles of snow to slowly drip down into puddles of brown slush, but clear blue skies offer some compensation for the aesthetic loss. Aigis had insisted that she wear gloves regardless. She briefly ducks inside the convenience store for a coffee; the last few drops are rolling down her throat when Mitsuru pulls up to the curb in front of her.

“Good morning, Kotone.” That thin little smile is back. So is the helmet Kotone saw Mitsuru wearing back when they were fighting the first full moon Shadows, decorated with a tidy checkerboard pattern. She must have tied up her hair or something, because it’s barely visible behind a long scarf. A second helmet, finished in matte black, is under Mitsuru’s arm; she hands it over to Kotone.

Kotone inspects it in her hands; it’s nothing like the one Mitsuru has on. The first thing she notices is the fire-breathing snake, painted on the left side in green and silver. On the right side are several stickers for motorcycle events and organizations Kotone has never heard of; and on the back, Roman numerals spelling out the number thirteen, and the name “Kikuno.” She looks up at Mitsuru and tries to hold back laughter.

“I asked the head maid where I could find a spare motorcycle helmet. She just smiled and gave me this,” Mitsuru explains.

“Your maid, huh?”

“It seems she has some interests that I was not previously aware of,” Mitsuru smiles.

“Well I don’t mind wearing it, I’m just not sure what I’ll say if we get arrested.”

“In that case I’ll be sure to keep us out of trouble. Did you have a destination in mind?” Mitsuru offers.

Come to think of it, Kotone sort of doesn’t. There’s an awkward pause.

“Oh, right!” she exclaims with a flash of inspiration. “Rio was talking up some new bakery on the far side of the bridge in Iwatodai the other day. We could bring everybody cake! Or something.”

This outburst is enough to earn a genuine laugh from Mitsuru. “Very well, shall we?”

 

Kotone straps on the helmet and climbs onto the bike, wrapping her arms around Mitsuru. The engine fires, and they push off into the street. She catches the dorm out one corner of her eye as it flashes past, and the engine hums - hums, not rumbles like the motorcycles in an American road movie, but that’s okay - as they pick up speed.

Having never ridden a motorcycle before, Kotone isn’t quite sure what to expect. Above all, it turns out to be a very physical experience of motion. The cool air blowing past her face pushes her eyes into a squint; she smells the grease venting out of the chimney when they pass in front of a Wild-Duck Burger, and feels the dust in the air when they pass a construction site. They lean into the turns, and the street signs and mailboxes that rush by feel close enough to reach out and touch. In some places the pavement is wet from melting snowbanks; the motorcycle’s tires throw up quick little drops of water that catch the sun for the briefest instant.

 

The ride is exhilarating until they come up on the ramp to Moonlight Bridge. There’s road work, and six lanes of traffic have to merge down to two; a growing line of vehicles of all sizes stretches out from the bridge, and it’s all Mitsuru can do to not get boxed in by tractor trailers. A dump truck attempts to pull into traffic from the site of the road work, but gets cut off by a driver in a smaller car and brakes hard in front of them; presumably unseen by the trucker, all of a sudden Kotone and Mitsuru have almost nowhere to go. Mitsuru coolly points the bike towards a gap to their right - directly at a pothole full of muddy water.

“Sorry about this,” Mitsuru manages to yell in the moments before impact; both she and Kotone brace themselves.

 And then they’re on the other side of the pothole, heading for an open lane. Kotone looks down at the turning wheels; no bump, no splash, nothing. No sign from Mitsuru, either - her concentration on the road seems awfully hard to break.

They’re up on the bridge now, and the wavering gleam of the sun on the ocean is enough to push aside Kotone’s bad memories of the place, for now. A little white triangle catches her eye in the distance; a sailboat. Huge steel cables slide past in a regimented rhythm, and wait - isn’t there something else that should be happening? A few seconds’ thought, and she realizes she hasn’t felt the expansion joints. When she has ridden buses across this bridge, there is always a regular _badump, badump_ as each section passes under the wheels. She looks down at the motorcycle’s wheel once more, then at the shadow it casts against the surface of the road.

The wheels are still turning, but they’re not in contact with the road anymore; they’re _floating_. Over the din of hundreds of spinning tires, she shouts - “Senpai, are you seeing this?”

“Yes.” Mitsuru responds. “Just… keep hanging on, please.”

By the time they reach the far end of the bridge, they’re high enough above the road that the bottoms of the bike’s wheels are level with some of the smaller cars’ windows. Kotone can see other drivers looking at them in obvious confusion. Should she start making up excuses yet, she wonders.

Mitsuru signals for a right turn and tilts the handlebars as though she were trying to make the first exit ramp off the bridge under normal circumstances. Kotone momentarily panics - she may sleep through Takenozuka’s physics lectures sometimes, but she’s pretty sure the tires have to be on the ground for things like steering and braking to work - but then, physics says motorcycles don’t just randomly start to fly in the first place. Indeed the bike duly makes the turn, and comes to a halt right on, or rather above, the white line when they come up on a stop sign at the bottom of the ramp.

Kotone voices the obvious question as they float along the street. “So, uh, what happens now?”

First, Mitsuru glides the motorcycle over to a lamppost, and Kotone wraps her arms around it before gingerly lifting herself clear of her seat on the bike. She slides down the lamppost to the sidewalk, dusts herself off, and takes a deep breath before reaching up and grabbing the front tire of the motorcycle, pulling it down as hard as she can.

It’s an odd sensation - akin to pulling a helium balloon back to earth. Yet like a helium balloon, the motorcycle seems to have very little mass, and as Kotone pulls, it descends to the street. Once the tires are touching the pavement once more, Mitsuru shuts off the engine and dismounts the wayward bike.

They both stare at it, as though it might bounce back into the air again with no warning. Mitsuru and Kotone take a couple of steps backward, then a breath of wind blows down the street. The motorcycle skips and slides along the ground like an autumn leaf. Kotone leaps forward to grab it before it gets any farther.

“Perhaps we would best be served walking the motorcycle the rest of the way,” Mitsuru suggests.

 

So they continue on foot, Mitsuru with the motorcycle on the edge of the street, and Kotone on the sidewalk.

“I apologize, this ride probably did not meet your expectations.” Mitsuru says, turning away from Kotone.

“What? No way!” Kotone shakes her head. “I had fun! I guess I’m a little worried that we’ll show up in grainy cell phone video on the evening news, though.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Mitsuru replies calmly. “Things like this have happened before. Most people prefer to assume things are normal. They’ll see a few pictures, figure it’s some sort of fake or trick, and move on, in the absence of further information.”

“You think so?” To Kotone that assumption seems a little blasé, what with the whole city being a monument to irrationality at the moment.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. The important thing is that we can’t let anything like that distract us right now.”

“True enough.”

By the time they reach it Kotone has almost forgotten about the bakery in all the confusion, but there it stands in front of them on the street all the same. It has a certain fashionable look to it, with a striped awning over the door and a hand-lettered chalk sign announcing the day’s specials on the sidewalk. She strides up to the doors, then registers that her companion is no longer with her.

“Mitsuru?” She turns around.

Mitsuru is still in the street, unwinding her scarf. She loops it around the motorcycle’s front wheel and then around a nearby street sign, and ties it off in a neat little knot.

“Gotta keep the motorcycle from blowing away, huh?” Kotone murmurs as Mitsuru approaches.

“A problem few have had before, I expect,” Mitsuru replies with a sly half-smile. Kotone laughs in return; “problems few have had before” describes S.E.E.S.’ experience pretty well recently.

 

They look back out over the street and the parked motorcycle, waiting for the bakers to finish filling their order.

“You’re right that we shouldn’t get too distracted, but…” Kotone begins, then trails off.

“It’s only reasonable to be curious,” Mitsuru answers. “All I can think of is that my motorcycle was modified to function during the Dark Hour, and we now know the Dark Hour is connected to Nyx.”

“And Nyx is a week away.”

“If Mochizuki is to be believed. So perhaps components in the motorcycle are reacting to that somehow,” Mitsuru continues.

“By flying?”

“By flying.”

“You know, Mitsuru, you’re really good at keeping a straight face.”

“It’s a skill.”

 

When they return to the dorm, laden with six boxes of scones, cakes, and croissants, they take a taxicab.


	4. Chapter 4

9-10 January

 

On days like this it’s difficult to shake off the sensation of being watched.

Back when she lived in Yokohama, during her first year of middle school, Kotone walked past a boutique on her way to class. There was usually a mannequin on display right by the open door of the shop, and as she caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye, she’d reflexively think that someone was there, coming out of the store. However many times she took a second look and determined no one was in fact present, her subconscious never quite accepted that judgment.

Seeing the Apathy Syndrome patients (or to put it with more of a rhetorical flourish, the Lost) around the city, it’s like she’s back in Yokohama again. A dozen times a day, some instinctive, animal part of her brain tells her, “look out, he’s watching you!” and a dozen more times, she reminds herself that no, Apathy Syndrome cases aren’t really watching anyone. Some days, it’s enough to inspire some pathos, but other times, she’s just too tired to care.

There’s a number people are supposed to call now when they see an Apathy Syndrome sufferer, Kotone has tried using it a few times. It’s run by the police; dial it up, give them the person’s location and description, and some overworked rookie cop, who tends to sound pretty apathetic himself, promises they’ll at least get the poor fool out of the cold.

Judging by the number of Lost Kotone sees just on her way to school and back, those promises must be pretty flexible. In fairness, the police have a lot to do. Maybe they have to give priority to those cases who end up in the middle of crosswalks in the street, or standing past the yellow line on the train platform.

 

Kotone counts five - no, six - people with Apathy Syndrome outside the mall as she waits for Fuuka to finish taking care of some club business after school. The plan is to buy some ingredients at a nearby market and make cookies in the dorm kitchen - sweet things seem to be good for team morale on long trips up Tartarus. People come and go, but Kotone notices they don’t seem to like to linger. For the occasional passing moment, there’s no one to be seen from her place sitting on a bench except the Lost. Isn’t this what Ryoji said the end of the world would look like? It’s a bit underwhelming, if that’s the case. For a little while she’s almost petulant; she chose to face this inevitable end with her eyes wide open, so it should at least be something worth looking at.

 

“Kotone?” Fuuka’s voice snaps her back to the present; the city is back to life, for now.

“Yeah, let’s go. Got lost in thought for a second…”

—

The chime at the supermarket door beeps as they exit, laden with flour, sugar, and butter. There’s some kind of flash sale, and a whole lot of shoppers have shown up at once; having an extra person along, even a small one like Fuuka, is useful in parting the mob. Out of what Kotone can only presume to be some combination of nerves and excitement at the prospect of cooking, Fuuka is in a talkative mood. All Kotone can do is try to keep up.

“…so wait, can the dough go bad?” Fuuka asks as they step out onto the crowded sidewalk.

“Eh, it should keep for as long as we need it to if we freeze it,” Kotone replies.

“Oh! Do you think Mr. Ekoda would like these? I could freeze the dough until exam week and then give him some, and maybe…”

“I don’t think Ekoda likes _anything_. I can see Ms. Toriumi being into that though.”

“Hey look out!”

A bicycle courier is weaving his way down the street at a daring speed, scattering pedestrians as he goes. Fuuka and Kotone duck out of his path in a tangle of legs, scarves, and grocery bags, colliding with another shopper; in the commotion, somebody’s bag spills, scattering bottled tea and cans of soup and fruit all over the sidewalk.

 

Dusting herself off, Fuuka fumes. “Some people are so rude!”

“Haha, you’re too nice,” Kotone responds. “I’d have harsher words for the guy than that, but he’s already gone.” Bending down, she starts picking up the tea bottles on the ground.

“Um… we’re sorry, can we help you …ma’am?” Fuuka’s voice goes from uncertain to apologetic to uncertain again in the space of a few words; Kotone turns to look.

The woman whose bag they’d spilled is standing, not quite straight, in front of Fuuka, completely still save for half-filled grocery bags swinging slowly back and forth off of her arm. Looking at or somewhere just past middle age, her bright maroon sweater stands in sharp contrast to her face and hair, which seem somehow colorless even against the gray afternoon sky.

“Oh… she’s got Apathy Syndrome…” Fuuka’s face softens in concern. She crouches down and starts picking up more spilled groceries. “Maybe she’ll thank us when she wakes up!” she continues with inauthentic optimism.

“They don’t remember what happens while they’re Lost,” Kotone responds, returning a sports drink to its place in the woman’s shopping bag. “Junpei and I conducted a very scientific experiment to that effect back in June.”

 

Having replaced all of her errant groceries, Kotone looks at the woman one more time. There’s enough here that it probably isn’t all for her. She wonders - who is waiting for her at home? A daughter, a son, a spouse, a mother? What did they do when she didn’t come back from the supermarket? Do they get along together, or are those people at home, whoever they are, why this woman has Apathy Syndrome now in the first place? Her blank face, tilted upward towards the clouds, betrays no answers.

 

Kotone blinks. Fuuka’s expression of concern is now directed towards her, she notices. She gropes around in her mind for anything less bleak to voice aloud. “But it’s okay, right? Altruism doesn’t require gratitude in return,” she finally manages. Swing and a miss. They pick up their things and resume their walk back to the dorm.

—

The cookies are a success, despite the awkwardness earlier in the afternoon, and Kotone and Fuuka go to sleep with flour all over their hands and the satisfaction of a job well done. Fuuka dashes off first thing the following morning to mail a container of them to Moriyama’s new address, leaving Kotone to make the trip to school alone.

 

All is as normal until she reaches the Iwatodai train station. The cult graffiti is all over the place and the taxi drivers are impatient, as usual, but the crowd forming outside the station doesn’t just seem to be waiting in line to swipe their tickets and passes at the fare gates. Kotone follows their gazes to the peak of the pitched roof covering the entrance to the station.

 

There’s someone up there - a younger man, in his twenties perhaps. Like the woman from yesterday and the rest of them, he’s motionless, with no expression on his face but a vacant stare up and into the distance. Positioned at the highest point of the roof, he has the look of the figurehead on an old sailing ship, or maybe the marble sculpture on a particularly elaborate mausoleum.

 

Murmurs come from all around Kotone as she approaches the stairs.

“How’d he even get up there?”

“What’ll they do to get him down?”

“Does he really have Apathy Syndrome?”

“What a show-off!”

Other passers-by point their phone cameras up at him, or point him out to their friends. A few even seem to be trying to work him into their selfie shots somehow. Kotone supposes that everyone needs a little bit of spectacle in their lives, but can’t gawk without feeling a little ghoulish. She boards the monorail to school and attempts to put the incident out of her mind.

 

At school, Ms. Toriumi shows rare professionalism, once more pretending that she knows absolutely nothing about any mysterious ailments or cults or this whole “Fall” thing. In fact at one memorable juncture, she requests that one student write her an essay about the inevitable end of the world if he’s so convinced that it’s going to happen, and stop distracting the rest of the class about it. Although Kotone silently applauds her efforts, between lectures she still hears gossip from a couple seats away from hers - “you see that guy on the roof at the station this morning?” Poor fellow - he’s a celebrity and he’ll never even know it.

 

On her way back to the dorm after school, Kotone looks again up towards the Iwatodai station roof, but this time there is no one to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You pretty much take the whole Apathy Syndrome thing for granted at the end of the game, but it has to be a pretty big deal to anyone who's actually living in a place like that.


	5. Chapter 5

15 January

 

“So, should we be worried about this?” Kotone jabs her chopsticks in the direction of the square outside. Junpei looks up from his bowl in response.

They’re sitting at a narrow counter at Hagakure, facing the front window beneath a buzzing neon “OPEN” sign. In the plaza adjoining Iwatodai station in front of them, a small group of youths seems to be drawing some kind of pentagram on the pavement with string and chalk. They look like Gekkoukan students, though not all of them wear the full uniform. One of them lights a candle; Kotone recognizes her from some Student Council meetings as the president of the Paranormal Club.

“I wouldn’t sweat it,” Junpei answers after a moment. “I’ve played enough video games to know that all the really good summon spells take like three turns to do anything. And I’m pretty sure I can finish this ramen in two.”

“You think so?”

“Look, the whole reason we’re back here is that finding out about Takaya’s cult shit killed the fun last time. Not happening again, dude.” Junpei takes a big slurp before resuming. “Besides, this type of thing never works out if it gets interrupted. If it looks like an Elder God is about to show up or whatever, just throw the egg from your ramen at them.” Another slurp.

“I was wondering why you hadn’t stolen it from me yet,” Kotone remarks.

“See? I’m planning ahead.”

 

The conversation pauses as both of them turn their attention back outside. It seems that the Paranormal Club (Kotone assumes) has a little work to do on their geometry - there’s pointing, and shuffling back and forth, and the president has to re-light her candle.

“You know, we were never sure if the Paranormal Club actually _did_ anything,” Kotone finally says. “They submitted a budget to the Student Council before the cultural festival and all the line items were for things like ‘Third Eye Sensitivity Training’ and ‘Cosmic Ray Spallation Detectors.’ Hidetoshi insisted that someone was pulling a prank on us, and Chihiro was just amazed that all their numbers added up properly.”

Junpei turns to her with a mouth full of noodles. “So they were always this crazy?”

“As far as I know.”

“Huh.” Junpei seems to lose focus for a second, idly twirling his chopsticks between his fingers, but a faint smile slowly spreads on his face. “That’s good.”

“Good?” Kotone lets a little too much skepticism come through in her voice.

“I dunno, dude. I think I’m just a little happier with people who were crazy to start with than with people who went crazy from Strega’s dumb cult. Feels more honest.”

“I think I get it,” Kotone nods. “But then, no one would be listening to the cult if they were _happy_. Some of those feelings have to be honest too.”

With another lull in the conversation, she takes the chance to catch up on her ramen bowl, although she can’t quite bring herself to eat the egg yet.

 

A few more minutes pass, and now there are _six_ candles, one for each point on the star and another in the center. The occultists, or whatever they are, are standing in a big ring around the outside. Junpei has reached the stage of his ramen bowl where noodles are retrieved one at a time in an unsatisfying scavenger hunt through the broth. “You know,” he says, stirring the bowl half-heartedly, “if I were some kind of ancient demon or cosmic force, I’m not sure why candles would help attract me.”

He wipes his face. “And I mean look! The wind keeps blowing them out!”

“Flickering candlelight gives lots of deep, moody-looking shadows, and it’s easy to make it light people’s faces from below. Looks good on a movie screen,” Kotone suggests.

“Heh, I figured you’d think of something like that.”

“Didn’t spend half the summer at the film festival for nothing.” She makes a show of moving her bowl aside, and gestures at dusting off her hands. “Oh, are you going to see that new karate movie this weekend? Trailers made it seem like something you’d like.”

“In that they were nothing but gunfire and explosions?”

“Exactly!” Kotone answers brightly.

“You know me too well.” Junpei heaves a loud, fake sigh. “Eh, but I don’t know, I might wait for the DVD. I’m not as into those movies as I used to be.”

“You aren’t? Thought I saw you glued to the Bruce Willis marathon the other night,” Kotone teases.

Junpei suddenly seems just a little downcast. “I guess I’ve kinda stopped believing the hero can win his family back or fix his drinking problem just by blowing up a lot of terrorists.”

Kotone nods. “That’s Hollywood, I guess.”

The two of them rise from their stools to pay for their meals over at the other counter; the proprietor is already manning the cash register expectantly.

“I s'pose I did hope joining SEES would be like, turning my life into an action movie or something, though.”

“Nah, we’re not an action movie. We’re one of those weird arthouse movies where nothing actually happens but there’s this constant psychological tension.”

Junpei laughs. “Not really my thing.”

“Me neither. Oh look, it started snowing.”

Outside, a thin line of new flakes is beginning to pile up on the handrail of the balcony outside Hagakure’s front door.

“You’re right,” Junpei says. “Hey, maybe the ritual they’re doing out there is to summon a snowstorm?”

They begin the awkward routine of replacing coats and scarves, shuffling towards the door.

“Think we’re still good to walk home?” Junpei asks.

“We’ve handled worse. Can always stop for coffee or something on the way if we get cold.” Kotone adjusts her scarf.

“Can you imagine if they served _coffee_ and ramen here?” Junpei grins. “I’d never need to go anywhere else!”

 

As the door to Hagakure swings shut behind them, Kotone dryly observes, “They’re chanting now.”

Junpei hastens his walk towards the stairs. “Shit, man, let’s get out of here.”

 

—

 

The city in a snowstorm takes on a certain austerity. The sky assumes the same whitish tint as the ground; the trees along the sidewalks, having shed their leaves months ago, are indistinct thickets of brownish-gray. Colors grow dim and faded, such exceptions as can be found jarring with their artificiality; the chipped paint on a fire hydrant here, the bright green of a traffic light there. Kotone and Junpei turn onto a side street, then take a shortcut through a park. Though they don’t stop, not completely, the hum of traffic and the echo of crowds seem to grow fainter, and more distant. The world flattens out, and Kotone begins to feel as if she’s walking through a pencil sketch; if not for Junpei’s commentary on the upcoming baseball season somewhere to her right, she’d lose herself in thought.

 

They emerge back on the street two blocks away from the dorm, hardly too soon; the snow is starting to fall a little harder. Kotone adjusts her scarf, looks down to the sidewalk to check for ice, looks back up - and there’s something _orange_ across the street.

 

To be more specific, it’s an orange parka. Its wearer is lying in the snowbank thrown up by plowing the street, with their arms outstretched. Judging by the awkward proportions of the jacket relative to its owner, they can’t be that old.

“Yup, that’s what you do with snow!” Junpei says with a grin.

“Wait, is that Ken? Ken-kuuun!” Kotone shouts cheerfully.

His reaction isn’t what she expected. Ken springs bolt upright with an immediacy that almost suggests reflex, then stands aside from the snowbank and stiffly brushes the snow off his clothes.

“Were you perhaps making a snow angel?” Junpei asks.

Ken can’t quite seem to meet their eyes. “No! I mean, yes… I don’t know!”

Kotone tilts her head inquiringly. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing! I-“ Ken stammers, cutting himself off. “Don’t laugh!”

“Hey, what’s to be ashamed of? Nothin’ wrong with playing in the snow! That’s what it’s here for!” They’ve joined Ken on his side of the street, but the volume of Junpei’s voice has yet to adjust to the change.

“I don’t know,” Ken replies, chewing his lower lip in concern.

“Listen, we just spent an entire meal watching the school Paranormal Club try to summon Beelzebub in front of the train station, so nothing that you do could possibly be absurd enough to make fun of,” Kotone says, trying to catch Ken’s eye.

“I know!” Ken answers. “It’s just… I don’t like it when people watch me… Hey, what are you doing?”

“Don’t mind me!” Junpei smiles. “Just catchin’ snowflakes on my tongue.”

Ken seems unconvinced.

“You don’t people watching you?” Kotone asks.

Ken looks at his feet. “People watching me do… kid stuff.”

“But you _are_ -“ Junpei starts, but Kotone hushes him.

“I guess back then I told myself I couldn’t play anymore. I had to-“ Ken stops himself, looking like he’s barely avoiding crying. “So I always felt bad when-“

A hastily packed snowball caroms off the hood of Ken’s parka, coming loose into a cloud of powder.

“Junpei!” Kotone turns to excoriate him, but Ken is chuckling into his gloved hand, so Kotone has to smile too.

“He’s the _worst_ role model, isn’t he?” Kotone laughs.

“No way! Follow me and we’ll go places!” Junpei protests. “Like the coffee shop. I’m getting cold.”

“Hey yeah, let’s get some hot chocolate!”

 

They leave three sets of footprints in the snow on the sidewalk; side-by-side, if never quite in sync. After a few minutes, Ken speaks up.

“Um… sorry I got upset. I- I’ll be okay.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Kotone gazes unfocused into the white-over-white, trying to think of what to say. Finally she settles on “We’re all still _us_. No one can change overnight.”

Instead of a response, Ken glances up at her - and catches a snowflake on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fully aware that, in-game, you don't get weather. Have to wait for Persona 4 for that. But the last Persona 3 movie had a very snowy December, and last week I was visiting a very snowy city, so to hell with it! Snow chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

13 January

 

There are worse places to be than the Gekkoukan school library. Better ones too, perhaps, but the faculty requested extended library hours to help the seniors study for entrance exams, and the rest of the library committee is busy or absent. So here she is.

Kotone sheds her schoolbag onto the front desk; there’s plenty of time for homework, so it can wait a minute. Instead she walks, without any particular direction, through the bookshelves.

As school libraries go, this one isn’t bad. One of the benefits of the school building only being ten years old is that there’s decent heating and air conditioning - at one of her old middle schools, she had gotten into the habit of bringing a scarf and gloves whenever she needed to get any studying done during the winter. Here, the black blazer of her uniform suffices. There’s a faint smell of books in the air, but it’s different from the smell of Bunkichi and Mitsuko’s used bookstore, and different again from the manga cafe she has been to with Junpei a few times. More… chemical, maybe? She wanders through Philosophy, Social Sciences, Literature, and Poetry before finding herself back where she started.

Kotone might have chided herself for wasting time, a few months ago, but now, it’s difficult to say what wasting time really is. In the face of the finality that they’ve been promised, it could just as easily be everything she does, or nothing whatsoever. Even so, she sits down, and begins the day’s homework, interspersed occasionally by the mundane duties of checking books in and out.

 

A few hours in, and her brain is crying out for a distraction, but there’s few to be found. If any teachers were in the room, they would certainly be disappointed at the relatively meager turnout for the extended library hours the faculty set up this evening. She would suggest not taking it personally; it’s not their fault, Kotone supposes, that there may well be no more future left to prepare for. At least, not individually. Such students as there are, mainly seniors, are hunched over tables and desks with quiet focus; Kotone doesn’t recognize anyone who would be interested in a conversation. Saori would have gladly chatted with her all night, but she doesn’t go to Gekkoukan anymore.

 

On some afternoons after class, there could be a kind of subliminal rhythm in the movement of the rectangular shafts of light through the school’s windows, and the color of the sunlight, and even the sounds of conversation through the hallways; Kotone could tell when it was time to leave for the dorm without so much as glancing at a clock. Today, though, there has been a low, thick overcast hanging over Port Island since before the first bell rang in the morning; the indicators of passing time have all faded into illegibility, but for a slow, subtle dimming from gray to black out the windows. The white fluorescent lights over her head in the library scorn even that.

When the last feeble hints of daylight are gone from the library windows, Kotone finally rises from her chair and takes a stack of returned books to replace on the shelves. Of course they’re mostly study guides, but there are a few other titles mixed in - a lengthy history of the Ottoman Empire catches Kotone’s attention purely for its sheer heft.

 

With every other book from the stack back in its correct section, the last one left is an annotated translation of _Hamlet_. Kotone flips through it for a moment; it’s true, something _is_ rotten in the state of Denmark. The proper place for this book is up on the very top of the shelf in the Literature section; Kotone strains to reach high enough to make a space for it. The reason for having these bookshelves so tall must be institutional, not practical, Kotone decides; to make her feel small.

Her fingers brush against something unfamiliar above her head. A… ring? She studies it in the palm of her hand. It’s made of some kind of green stone - jade perhaps? - and seems just a little bit warm to the touch. Now that she’s looking at it, Kotone is fairly sure she has seen this ring before someplace.

It takes ten paces past the Reference shelf before she remembers. “The storm ring,” Fuuka had called it. It had appeared next to Kotone’s foot one night in Tartarus, after she summoned Jatayu during an especially lengthy fight. Fuuka analyzed it once the battle was over, and told them that it had some property to repel the wind spells that many Shadows - and Yukari - used. Then the Reaper materialized at the end of the hall, and Kotone was forced to drop everything, ring included, and _run._

 

That was back in September - it had to be, since Shinjiro was with them that night. His blasé calm as the Reaper approached takes on a different significance now. Returning to the present, Kotone clenches her fist around the ring, then slips it into a pocket, where it settles against her pencil.

 

Back at her desk, Kotone starts on some mathematics, but her mind is wandering again. There is a ragged thread of logic, she supposes, to finding something she had lost while climbing the tower here. The connection between the two might fade into the background during the daytime when the school is busy, but right now, in the long January night, Tartarus feels no more than an eye blink away, waiting on the edge of her peripheral vision where conscious thought can’t quite tell her it’s not there.

Still, contrary to suspicion, the Dark Hour does _not_ come, or at least it waits long enough for Kotone to complete the last step of a trigonometric proof. She turns the page of her notebook to start the next problem - and everything she just wrote slides out of her notebook onto the desk next to her. She turns the page back - it’s blank again, like she hadn’t written anything. Meanwhile, the pencil marks that made up her former trigonometric proof dance and skitter across the desk; she grasps the expression _sin 2x = 2 sin x cos x_ between two fingers, waves it, like it’s a strip of ribbon.

 

There is no one here who could tell her what is going on - actually, there might not be anyone left in here at all, though Kotone can’t be sure. There’s an odd little thrill in that - a secret for her to keep, kind of like that faint tinge of excitement, that she carefully hid, when she first joined SEES. Time for an experiment. She picks up her pencil again and quickly scrawls _Hello world_ on the paper, then gently blows on the page; the words float off the surface of her notebook, hanging on unseen currents of air like dust motes. Next, she scribbles a little doodle, a cat or something; she holds it in her hand, bends and squeezes it. The doodle, too, floats weightlessly in the air when Kotone releases it.

This is actually kind of fun. She writes more - little sketches of Koromaru, carefully formed kanji, what little she knows of other languages - and lets it swirl around her desk, pencil marks twisting and turning with every wave of her hands. She draws herself a fake mustache and holds it up to her lip - but with no mirror to see how silly she looks with it, she lets it float away as well.

 

“Um,” somebody says from the library door. “The school’s closing in five minutes.” Kotone snaps to attention; everything around her settles back down to earth. It’s Chihiro Fushimi, from the student council; she opens her mouth to say something else, then seems to change her mind, clasping her hands and looking down at the floor.

The confusion is written right on Chihiro’s face; there’s no use pretending whatever she was just doing was normal, Kotone decides. “How’d that line go again? _More on heaven and earth, Horatio_?” she starts. “Well, anyway, want to help me close up here?”

Chihiro nods, but in truth there’s not that much to do; Kotone took care of most of the big chores while putting off the rest of her homework. Still, it takes one more walk through the bookshelves to make sure everything is put away, doors and windows are locked, and there are no more students left studying - they needn’t have bothered with that last part, Kotone thinks, the library is as silent as the grave.

 

Job complete, the two of them reach the library entrance, when suddenly Chihiro speaks up again. “So, um…”

Kotone turns to catch her eye; Chihiro momentarily looks at the floor. “What were you doing when I came in?” She tugs at the collar of her blouse; it must have taken her all that time walking through the library to work up the courage to ask.

Kotone sighs. “To tell the truth, I don’t really know myself.”

They lock the library door. “Sorry, that’s a really terrible answer, isn’t it?”

Before waiting for Chihiro’s response, Kotone continues, “I guess the best I can say is that a mask slipped, and you saw something you weren’t supposed to. It happens.”

“But…”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

As they pass the shoe lockers she touches the Storm Ring in her pocket. It doesn’t feel altogether right, not to explain the real secret, what their school _becomes_ \- and it’s hard to even say that it matters anymore who knows the truth. Yet habit compels her to hold her tongue - habit, or some residual fear. The two of them reach the front doors of the school; cold mist grips Kotone’s face. The streetlights make thick, glowing halos in the fog; Kotone has to remind herself again that it’s not quite as late as it feels like it is.

 

There’s something else that doesn’t feel right, not with cult graffiti all over the streets and tonight’s vague implications that reality is coming unglued. It’s a little awkward, but Kotone has to ask. “Chihiro, would you like to walk home together? Could stop for a burger on the way if you want, I haven’t had a chance to eat.”

Kotone sees the brief flash of a smile break through the student council treasurer’s usual shyness. “Okay,” Chihiro answers with a hint of relief.

 

They walk side by side, lit from time to time by the headlights of passing cars - they catch in Chihiro’s glasses. Kotone attempts some small talk every few minutes, but her companion isn’t that much of a conversationalist. It’s about when they’re waiting for the monorail that Kotone realizes she might be doing this for her own peace of mind as much as Chihiro’s - realizes that she’s been expecting to see a black coffin off her left shoulder rather than a person.

At the other end of the monorail, Wild-Duck Burger beckons in red and white neon. Tacky though it is, the signage has another message tonight, besides the price of a value meal. _Soon - but not yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure exactly what to say about this chapter, other than that I guess I didn't have any better ideas, and I spend a lot of time talking about mundane things like books and lights? It takes a lot of inspiration from Yurucamp and Mushishi, I guess.


	7. Chapter 7

19 January

 

A strange dream comes to a sudden end, and Kotone finds herself awake in her room. Something about crawling along the edge of a knife - but was she tiny, or was the knife huge? It’s no use - every detail she reaches for simply dissolves, no more substantial than sugar poured into hot coffee.

With a shrug she heads downstairs for an early breakfast. Has anyone been to the store lately?

 

“You’re up early.” A familiar voice emerges from beneath a voluminous grey sweatshirt when she reaches the landing of the stairs.

“Mhmm,” Kotone nods as first his silver hair, then the rest of Akihiko’s head, becomes visible. “You heading out already?”

“Morning jog, yeah.” Akihiko segues into a series of stretching exercises as Kotone peruses the kitchen.

 

As it turns out, the answer is no. No one has been to the store lately. Kotone sighs in frustration, at herself as much as anyone else, for forgetting about groceries in her most recent errand run. Akihiko must hear her, or recognize her body language, or something like that, because from across the room he asks, “Want to join me on my jog? I usually pass a couple different places that serve breakfast on the way back.”

“Sure!” She suddenly feels something warm and soft against her legs. Reaching down to ruffle Koromaru’s fur, she suggests, “let’s feed this guy first, yeah?”

-

The front door of the dorm shuts, and a gulp of cold air rushes into Kotone’s chest. Her gym clothes don’t really feel warm enough yet, but once they’re moving, it should be fine.

“You’ve got a route in mind?” she asks Akihiko next to her.

“Memorized. Let’s go.”

“I’ll just… follow you then?” Too late; he’s already on the move.

The morning light is weak and diffuse; once again, clouds had moved in overnight, glowing white at their thinnest, but never quite revealing the sun. This is the sort of day where it would be easy to sleep in, if it were not a school day; even so, as Kotone and Akihiko jog, the city begins to wake up around them. At first, she sees small things - a door to a shop being propped open as Kotone runs past, lights switching on in a high window, a cook sweeping the sidewalk in front of his café. Then she starts at the metal clatter of an unloading delivery truck, and veers to the edge of the sidewalk to avoid a woman walking five dogs at once. Soon the sound of her shoes striking the pavement and the rise and fall of her breath are drowned out by the constant hum of traffic.

Akihiko seems untroubled by any of this ahead of her, neatly charting a course through every obstacle without breaking his stride. The tennis club and Tartarus keep Kotone in good shape, but he does this every morning and knows the route; it’s harder for her to keep up than it is for him to lead. To his credit, Akihiko seems aware of her disadvantage, and carefully maintains an even pace, occasionally throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure Kotone isn’t too far behind.

 

It’s not until Akihiko leads them toward the long ramp to Moonlight Bridge that Kotone has to call out to him. “What are we doing up here, senpai?”

Akihiko slows so she can come up alongside him, then answers. “It’s all reclaimed land between the dorm and the school. Flat ground. So this ramp is the closest thing I can get to a good hill around here. Anyway, we’re not due for a break yet!” He resumes his previous jogging pace. Kotone nods, and follows, though it feels a little strange to her to see the bridge in such a prosaic way; as its cables and girders loom higher and higher above her, she can’t get her mind off the nearly eschatological significance of her previous visits.

To Kotone’s surprise, however, the two of them do not cross from Iwatodai to Port Island. Instead, Akihiko ducks into an inconspicuous little doorway, marked by a green emergency exit sign. Inside is a long stairway downward, scissoring back and forth in steel and chipped paint; each footstep they make reverberates.

“It’s a shortcut,” Akihiko explains, his voice echoing in the tall stairwell, but to where he doesn’t say.

 

The two of them emerge at the base of a massive bridge piling. A narrow, but paved, bicycle path runs along the shore; on one side is a block wall, and on the other, dark grey water rippling up and down against the rocks.

“Not many people know this path is here,” Akihiko tells Kotone. “You can’t really see it from the expressway on the other side of the wall.” Before she can ask him “left or right?” he starts running again. She pauses for just a moment before following - even now, there’s more to find.

 

Just as Kotone’s legs begin to falter, the bike path opens out onto a - she can’t quite find the right word - promenade, or overlook, or something? There are benches facing the water and fixed binoculars pointing into the harbor - not that there’s much of a view today for either. The monorail track is visible in the distance; Kotone watches a train crossing it and glances at her watch. It seems there’s still plenty of time before she’ll need to catch one. Akihiko slows to a walk, turns, and leans on the metal railing separating them from the sea; Kotone joins him. He may have made all that running look easy, but there are still beads of sweat on his brow; resting his elbows on the railing, he clasps his hands together in the same black leather gloves he’d been wearing when Kotone first met him.

“Heh, you’re all red,” he teases, watching his companion catch her breath.

“Yeah, well, the hooded sweatshirt and gloves make you look like a burglar,” Kotone answers.

Akihiko lets the jibe roll right past him, and gestures slightly to something on Kotone’s other side; she turns to look. “You see that guy over there?” he asks.

“Hmm?” At the other end of the row of benches is a man sitting on a little collapsible stool, holding a long fishing rod over the railing into the water below.

“He’s here every morning,” Akihiko explains. The man’s hair is white; just a little tuft of it escapes from under a wide-brimmed hat and a windbreaker pulled high up his neck. At a convenient distance from his seat are a bait bucket and tackle box; he leans back and stretches out his legs until his shoes catch the stanchions of the railing.

“Every morning, huh?” Kotone asks.

“Well, I first saw him when I started running this route, which was… couple weeks after I started middle school here? Never seen him miss a single day. Morning after I won a tournament, could only open one eye? He was there. Finally able to exercise after that Shadow cracked my rib? He welcomed me back. Morning after Shinjiro was… “ Akihiko pauses. “He was there too.”

“You talk to him much?”

“From time to time. I guess he’s a retiree or a veteran or something. I think… the most important thing is just that he’s there, you know?”

Kotone nods but says nothing; Akihiko continues.

“I have a feeling that he wouldn’t even _care_ if Nyx descended like Ryoji says. He’d just set up right there, and keep fishing.”

Kotone laughs, and suddenly Akihiko seems a little flustered.

“I - I don’t know if it really makes much sense. But I think it helps.”

“Every little bit helps, I think,” Kotone answers.

 

They fall quiet for a moment, looking out over the bleak water. The rectangular silhouette of a container ship sits still in the distance, followed by a twin further away, and a third even farther then that, its profile ghostly and indistinct. There was a news report on television last night; something about the port cutting out shifts because too many workers were out with Apathy Syndrome, so ships are lining up waiting to unload, a neat, orderly queue stretching out into the ocean.

 

“Undefeatable, huh,” Kotone muses, and not for the first time. Turning to Akihiko, she asks, “you ever fight an undefeatable opponent before?”

He nods. “A few times, when I was starting out. People didn’t think a mopey little orphan like me could defeat anyone.”

“How’d it go, then?” she asks.

“Still won,” Akihiko answers. Turning away from the railing, he stretches out his arms and bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, ready to get moving again.

The plain-spoken confidence in his voice is a little surprising - but right now, Kotone realizes, Akihiko is home - the kind of home that is an idea, not a place. And who doesn’t feel a little safer, a little more confident at home?

Kotone smiles, and they start the final leg of their jog. It might not be much, but it’s something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if the chapter with Junpei and ramen was inspired by a snowy visit to Utah, then this one is a bit more winter in New York City. As for why I can't stop describing the built environment - blame my parents, they're architects.


End file.
